


a string of colored beads

by civilsmile



Category: The Little Mermaid (1989)
Genre: Captivity, F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mind Control, Political Marriage, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 20:35:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/civilsmile/pseuds/civilsmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps the strength of this human kingdom could be bent one day toward the sea, its resources turned against her old enemy. King Triton feared the fish-eaters, feared their harpoons and nets. Perhaps he was right to be afraid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [isabeau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isabeau/gifts).



The Sea Witch stepped lightly out of the surf, shedding the waves like a cloak. There before her was the high wall of the castle—and there, on a dark rampart, the prince. He stood with one booted foot on a carved rail, his gaze on the moonlit ocean, a flute lifted to his lips. The melody was halting, half-remembered. 

As she watched, a white-haired servant approached, hands clasped tentatively at his chest. The boy looked around. Their voices did not reach her, but she saw the man put a kind hand on the boy's shoulder. Together, they looked up toward the golden glow of a tall window. Where the light spilled onto his face, she thought she saw the prince smile.

The servant departed. The prince bowed his head, turned the flute restlessly in his hands. Abruptly, he stepped back from the rail and hurled the instrument away from him. He watched it spin flashing to the dark water below, then raised his eyes again to the high lit window. He strode toward it, no hesitation in his step. _Now_. 

Letting the mermaid's pure voice lift into the night, she started toward him along the glimmering strand. He froze, then rushed back to the edge of the wall, his hands clutching the stone as he leaned down to see her. From the shining nautilus at her throat, tendrils of her power reached for him. His eyes went wide with amazement and stunned recognition. Then she had him, and his pupils gleamed gold as her will closed around his like a fist.

* * *

The prince was getting married? _This afternoon?_ But he hadn't asked her, they hadn't even—

It didn't matter. Joy lit her like the sun. Ariel jumped from the bed, whirled around, and scooped Sebastian up in cupped hands. Twirling, she pressed a kiss to his startled face. What did she know of human customs? Yesterday, with Sebastian's improvised orchestra about them, she had tried to put the depth and breadth of her love into her eyes. Eric had seen it. He knew there was no need to ask her anything.

She set Sebastian down and darted for the door. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she turned back to run her hands hastily through the mass of her hair, so curiously heavy here on land. Her own incredulous face grinned at her from the glass. Then she was out into the corridor, still in her nightgown, and racing down the stairs. 

On the landing, she froze. In the great hall below, Eric stood straight and still beside a smiling young woman. Grimsby was bent in a deep bow before them, his hands clutching each other behind his back. The servant's voice was apologetic, uncertain. "Well, now, Eric, it appears that—I was mistaken. This mystery maiden of yours does, ah, in fact exist. And—and she is lovely." 

Ariel pressed herself shakily to a pillar, her body gone cold. Eric's left arm was crooked stiffly at his waist, and the dark-haired stranger leaned against him, her slender arms threaded through his. His face and voice were calm. "We wish to be married as soon as possible."

Ariel reeled back, shaking her head. What was _happening?_ Who was this dark beauty, clinging girlishly to her prince? And what of yesterday's enchanted communion, the kiss they'd nearly shared—had Eric forgotten her? "Oh, yes—of course, Eric," Grimsby stammered, taken aback. "But, ah, these things do take time—"

"This afternoon, Grimsby." The words were soft, but the prince's tone brooked no argument. "The wedding ship departs at sunset."

Ariel gasped without sound. She fell back against the pillar, one hand at her head, the other tight against her stomach. Tears came hard and sudden. Burying her face in her hands, she fled. 

* * *

The sun crawled down the sky. Alone in her lavishly-appointed cabin, the Sea Witch paced thoughtfully. The maid sent to help her dress had scurried out, eyes red, before the lash of the Witch's sharp tongue. When she was sure she would be undisturbed, she pulled on the simple white gown herself, enjoying the slide of silk over the novelty of dry, warm skin. 

If she extended her awareness, she could feel the seething of the prince's captive mind. He sat quite still, she knew, in his own cabin across from hers, dressed for his wedding. If he could, he would have wept in rage and horror. Instead, obedient to her pleasure, he waited in silence.

There was no need to go through with this farce of a marriage. She had won: the prince was safely away from Triton's little brat, and at sunset the girl would be hers. And then she'd make the proud king writhe. She'd see him wriggle like a worm on a hook.

Still, a thread of doubt remained. She would drag the broken-hearted child down into the dark, yes. Bind her and humble her and plant her in her _garden_. And Triton would be consumed with fury. He would try to destroy the contract, of course, but it was legal and binding. And then—would he trade himself for his daughter? Surrender power over all the seas, to save his reckless girl?

He loved the child, that much was certain. But was there not a chance—a _chance_ , however slim—that he might turn down the deal, leave the girl to her fate, burn out his own heart rather than sacrifice his kingdom? And then where would she be? The little mermaid herself had no value: the Witch didn't want another worthless slave. She wanted to _rule_.

She stopped pacing. Slowly, she padded across the thickly-woven carpet to seat herself before a vanity of burnished golden wood. Her true face looked back at her from the mirror. Lavender-tinted skin, white hair, lips the color of blood. She was a sea creature. And yet—

And yet, if the kingdom of the sea might still be snatched from her tentacles, there was a kingdom on the land surely within her grasp. At sunset, she was to wed a human prince. With his mind bound, he was a toy: she would be queen unopposed, her word absolute. She would not take the trident, no—but she would have power.

And who knew what the future might bring? Perhaps the strength of this human kingdom could be increased, and bent one day toward the sea, its resources turned against her old enemy. King Triton feared the fish-eaters, feared their harpoons and nets. Perhaps he was right to be afraid. 

The thing called Vanessa, that looked human but was not, picked up a silver-backed brush and ran it slowly through the cloud of her hair. She smiled. In the mirror, the Sea Witch smiled back. 

* * *

Her friends did not leave her side. Ariel stood on the dock to watch the pleasure barge depart, forty oars flashing over a sea turned to liquid gold. Pennants snapped gaily overhead. When she found that her legs could not support her, she put her back against a tall post decked with pink garlands and let herself sink down. She drew her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and hid her face in her borrowed skirts. 

She wept. So did Flounder, circling sadly in the bright water at the foot of the dock. Sebastian was silent, and so, for once, was Scuttle. She had been a fool. Eric didn't love her—he hadn't even said goodbye to her. She had traded her voice, her freedom, for nothing.

The sun touched its bulk to the horizon. She expected the eels. Ursula must know that she had won, and soon she would send her foul messengers to collect the prize. Ariel felt neither revulsion nor dread. Those would come, she imagined, but for now there was only loss, yawning horribly in her ravaged throat. 

Water closed over the sun, and the change wracked her. Last time she had been too startled, and then too busy drowning, to feel how much it hurt. Now, if she could, she would have screamed.

Twisting out of the mockery of human clothes, she slipped off the dock and neatly into the sea. Flounder nudged her shoulder, offering comfort or seeking it. She pressed her face to his smooth side. Her body did not feel like a homecoming. The water chilled her.

"We should go," Sebastian said uneasily, but there was nowhere _to_ go. Without Flotsam and Jetsam to guide her, could she even find her way to Ursula's lair? And if she could, did she have the courage to descend unforced to that hellish cavern, to await her mistress in the dark? No. She would go to the Sea Witch when she was dragged. 

She waited, Flounder and Sebastian beside her, Scuttle perched above them on the dock. Night deepened, and the first stars appeared. No one came. At last, in the still hour after midnight, she turned her back on the palace. She was out of ideas, done with thought, more tired than she could bear. She went home. 

* * *

The boy had been untouched. That amused her. He was ruined now, silent and shivering beside her in the cabin's opulent bed. The minor entertainment to be had from her prisoner was an afterthought, but the Witch was pleased to pursue it. The boy's fear and helpless anger were engaging. She'd wondered if the human form might disgust her, and found it did not. Her own fragile new body was unlovely, but interesting. 

Not that she would wear it all the time. With her magic, it was easy enough to transform. The prince didn't even know what she _was_ , yet, or what she wanted. She smiled. He would learn.

Not tonight, however. At present, he appeared to be in shock, which was dull. She kicked him idly to the floor. 

* * *

For a month, two, three—they were kind. Alana brushed and braided her hair, offering wordless closeness. Adella brought her small treats, and kept up a stream of gentle chatter while she made sure Ariel ate them. Attina hired a tutor to teach them all to speak with their hands. 

Ariel wanted none of it. At night she dreamed of drowning, her body twisting and tearing apart as the Sea Witch laughed. By day she waited for the eels. After the first week she knew she would fight. She imagined them wrapping their slimy lengths around her wrists. 

After sweetness came severity. You are a princess of Atlantica, Attina told her fiercely. You have responsibilities. What you have lost, others have lost. Show up to your lessons and learn to speak again. Ursula has vanished: our father searched her cave himself and freed her captive creatures. No one is coming for you.

She tried. She did not want to be weak. But her mind felt blunted, and the new language of gestures eluded her. She rejoined her sisters in their customary studies—math and music, science and philosophy and statecraft—but felt no quickening of interest. She took to rising late, and was not reprimanded. 

Time passed, and she became aware of whispers. Attina and Alana were unhappy, and at odds, it seemed, with their father. Twice she came upon the eldest girls locked in quiet conference, but they fell silent when she drew near. Their stares followed her.

It didn't matter. Attina's words haunted her. _What you have lost, others have lost_. She was not the first person to lose her heart to a beautiful boy. In time, of course, she would mend. She would have a long life, and many lovers. The knowledge did not console her. She wanted Eric. She turned her thoughts from him so strictly that, in the end, she thought of little else.

She did not mean to return to her cave of ruined treasures, but the company of others became at times intolerable. She wondered, easing the heavy rock aside, if she meant it as punishment, a small self-inflicted cruelty: to drift among these shattered things, to touch them, knowing the world of their human makers was denied her. If she could not let go of her desire, she could grip it until it cut.

Darkness, suddenly, and a distant sound. A sense of unreality overtook her. Wasn't this how it had all begun? A ship. _Ignore it_. In half a year, she had not been to the surface. The thought of watching from the rocks, glimpsing Eric on the shore, was beyond bearing. _It has nothing to do with you—not anymore_. 

Yet without conscious choice, she was rising. A flick of her tail, and she slipped through the crack in the cavern's high ceiling and out into open ocean. Above her, shadows on the water. A flickering of lights. Thunder.

She surfaced into a world on fire. There were two ships, and one of them was dying. Flames engulfed it, burning debris raining down on the slick skin of the sea. From the side of the other, weapons protruded, roaring and spitting smoke. Screams rang out, and cries of command. She could not get near, could not look away, her senses stunned by the scale of the disaster. The injured ship was lowering a boat when an explosion wracked it, and then there were bodies in the water. 

Ariel dove. There, a young sailor, a girl, drifting unconscious. Ariel grasped her arm, pulled her toward the surface. The body turned, and Ariel recoiled. The girl's chest was a wound, gaping with blood. Dead. She dove again, panic clawing at her. They couldn't all be—

A man, struggling to swim, one arm limp and useless. She caught hold of his shirt, dragged him up to the air. He gasped, and gaped at her. She cast about for a plank of wood, something, some fragment he could cling to to keep afloat. There were others, she had to help—

Pain, white-hot, in her right shoulder. She wrenched around, her left hand flying up to touch the hurt, and her vision blurred as she felt the shaft. On the surviving ship, the attacker, people were pointing at her and shouting. Above their heads, a flag she knew spread itself on the wind. Another slim, deadly length of wood flew past her ear and hissed into the sea. 

She drove herself down. She couldn't move properly with the weapon lodged in her shoulder. The drag of water against it was agony. More shafts landed above her, biting into the sea like teeth. _Down_. She gathered her nerve, wrapped her hand around the thing, yanked, and nearly lost consciousness. If she couldn't pull it out, could she snap it off? _Down_. Both hands this time. 

* * *

There were some days lost to fever, and to drugged sleep. When Ariel woke at last clear-headed, her father was at her bedside. He touched a gentle hand to her hair, leaned over to kiss her forehead. His eyes were red with sleeplessness. Slowly, painfully, she made a fist and brought it to her chest, circled it over her heart: I'm sorry.

He covered her hand with his, stilled it, coaxed it back to her side. "You're all right. The wound is still healing. Rest."

She closed her eyes. Tears leaked from beneath the lids. _They're dangerous_. Anger would be easier to bear. _Do you think I want to see my youngest daughter snared by some fish-eater's hook?_ But those had not been fishing vessels. That terrible ship, flying Eric's flag—that had been built for war. 

When she surfaced again from troubled sleep, it was to a murmur of voices. "—you don't know that. She could help us. Eric's sailors nearly killed her." Alana. Ariel kept her eyes closed, her breathing steady. 

"She loves him." That was Attina. "He threw her away and married that warmongering bitch and she _still_ —wait. Is she awake?" Ariel couldn't suppress the flinch. Caught out, she opened her eyes. Her father had gone, and her two eldest sisters were seated by her bed.

They helped her to sit up, and to eat. She was weak, but the pain was less. She turned the fragment of conversation over in her mind. The two of them had been worried, and secretive, for months. She hadn't cared. But they _knew something_ , that much was clear—something about Eric, and the killing she had witnessed. It was time to find out what was going on. She caught Attina's arm, and waited for her sister to meet her eyes. Carefully, she made the sign that meant: explain.

Attina gave her a searching look, then nodded. She settled gingerly beside Ariel on the bed, Alana hovering behind her. "All right. First, though—can you tell us what happened?"

Ariel bit her lip, searched her memory for the signs she needed. She didn't know how to say _ships_ , or even _humans_. She thought of Attina urging her to focus on her lessons, and felt ashamed. Frustration rose in her, and something akin to panic. They'd tried to give her speech when there'd been nothing to say, when she'd been _empty_ —and now the words were piling up in her throat, choking her, with no way out. She balled her hands into fists, and smacked them uselessly down on the bed. Pain stabbed through her shoulder.

"Hey," Alana said quickly. "Don't do that. It's okay—it's okay if you can't." She shot Attina a reproving look. "We're beginners, all of us. Still learning how to talk about daily activities and household objects." She stroked a hand over one of Ariel's, coaxing her to relax her grip. "Let's try something simpler. Yes or no questions. And then we'll tell you as much as we know."

Grateful, Ariel nodded. Attina took over. "You went to the surface again. Was that the first time, since—since you came home?" Yes. "So you've had no news about Eric, or his kingdom?" No. "Did you ever hear him discuss his military ambitions?" Ariel stared. Numbly, she shook her head. Attina sighed. "All right. You saw one of his warships destroy a merchantman, and you tried to help. Yes?" Ariel looked from Attina to Alana and back. She made the sign that meant: how? 

"We'll get to that. You took an arrow through the shoulder." Ariel startled. Was that what it was called? "Was that an accident, when they were shooting at survivors in the water? Or did Eric's people see you?" After a moment, Ariel pointed at her eyes. Attina and Alana exchanged a worried glance. "Damn. All right, last question. Sebastian told us that you saw the woman Eric married—Vanessa—but never spoke to her or learned who she was. Is that true?" 

It was. Ariel felt her stomach drop. Something bad was happening. Something was wrong with Eric's wife— _that warmongering bitch_ , Attina had called her—and now, from the sound of it, with Eric himself. _His military ambitions?_ The fact that Eric was a prince—a king, she supposed, now that he had wed—had not mattered to her. Suddenly, it seemed it might matter a great deal.

"Since his marriage," Attina said, "Eric's policies have changed. Towards his own people, and towards the neighboring coastal state. I know—what you feel for him. But he has become a cruel and a warlike king."

Ariel drew a sharp breath. Attina continued, relentless. "Many place the blame on his wife, Vanessa. They say she is the daughter of an inland lord, but no one seems to know more than that. She is ambitious, and ruthless. Some of the worst excesses are rumored to be hers."

Ariel thought, then slowly repeated her question: how? _How do you know?_ She had been fascinated by the human world since childhood, and understood hardly anything about it. Yet here was Attina, speaking of human politics with the ease of long familiarity, almost as though—

Her sisters shared another look. Attina cleared her throat. To Ariel's amazement, the tips of her ears had gone pink. "There's someone you need to meet." 

Alana laughed softly, breaking the tension. "Technically speaking, two someones." 

Attina rolled her eyes.

* * *

A young man, long-limbed and lean, sat with slippered feet dangling off the edge of the dock. His coat was finely cut, thick with embroidery. Under close-cropped dark hair, his face had a gaunt look to it, the smooth brown skin stretched tightly over prominent bones. A girl in a plain blue dress sat cross-legged at his side.

Ariel's body ached from the swim. With Attina and Alana, she had slipped away while the palace slumbered. Now, she thought, dawn was not far off. Before her, the rugged hills of an unfamiliar coastline rose black against the stars. 

Attina caught hold of one slender ankle, and for a moment, Ariel thought she would pull him into the water. Instead, he leaned down to her, smiling. "Mark," Attina said. "This is my sister, Ariel. Ariel—this is Princess Markeizha of Glowerhaven."

Ariel brought a hand to her forehead, and raised it in a brief salute: hello. The princess—not a young man, then—mirrored the gesture politely. "Ariel." Her voice was rough with exhaustion, but warm. "I've heard a great deal about you. And now, when we finally meet, I am in your debt. I had the tale from the survivors. One trader told me how he was drowning, stunned from the explosion, when you pulled him to the surface. And you were injured, helping my people."

Ariel ducked her head, embarrassed. It hadn't been like that—she hadn't been _brave_. She'd reacted without thinking. "The thing I must confess," the princess went on softly, "is that a part of me took heart to hear it. King Eric's sailors hurt an innocent girl—but not just any innocent girl. The youngest daughter of King Triton, whom I would dearly like to make my ally." She turned back to Attina. "My love, is there any word from your father? Will he give thought, now, to this war on the borders of his kingdom?" 

_My love?_ Ariel felt dizzy with the implications. She had imagined herself the only one with an interest in the human world. More than that—the only one hungry for passion and adventure. When longing for Eric had consumed her, she'd gone straight to the Sea Witch. She had never considered that one of her sisters might understand, or be willing to help. 

"I'm sorry," Attina said. "I've tried everything. His answer is the same." Ariel could hear the bitter frustration in her sister's voice. "Human conflicts have nothing to do with us. You're all dangerous to our kind, as Ariel's latest misadventure proves. We have nothing to gain by getting involved." 

"That is—" The princess bit down hard on her anger. "That is foolish, and shortsighted. Doesn't he understand that human technology is changing? Your people, your cities—the ocean will not hide you forever. Better to begin forging alliances with us, than to find yourselves alone beside a hostile coast. If Glowerhaven falls, Eric will control the trade routes. The power of his navy will only grow." 

"I know," Attina said shakily. "I know all that. But if we can't make our father see reason, we can still help. We can still fight. Alana and I have already sabotaged one ship. They had to take it into dry-dock for repairs. We can do more—"

Markeizha shook her head. "It won't be enough. If no aid is coming, we'll have to try diplomacy again. They threw out our ambassador, but I'll send a negotiating party. Lennie will go with them." With a fractional motion, the princess indicated the blue-clad girl. "She's known Eric since we were children." She scrubbed briefly at tired eyes. "We both have. Maybe she can talk him out of this madness." 

* * *

On the day King Triton entered the war, Ariel was perched on the deck of a Glowerhaven ship. If they came across an enemy they could not outrun, she was armed with explosive charges to attack it from beneath. Three mermaids could not provide security to an entire fleet, but they plotted strategy with Mark and her advisors, and gave what help they could.

The diplomatic mission had been a failure. The girl called Lennie, when Ariel had next seen her, quiet as ever by the princess's side, had had her hands carefully bandaged. Her unremarkable face was a mess of mottled bruising. 

When Scuttle landed on the railing beside her, Ariel smiled a greeting. Cheerful as always, he had been happy to join their cause, and had provided invaluable aerial reconnaissance. Today, though, he seemed wild, frightened. He spoke as if he could not catch his breath.

"Ariel. I was flying, I was—of course I was flying—and I saw—I saw the watch—the _Witch_ was _watching_ a mirror, and she was singing with a stolen set of pipes." Ariel gaped at him, uncomprehending. " _Do you hear what I'm telling you?_ The prince has married the Sea Witch in disguise!"


	2. Chapter 2

At a small, polite noise from the corridor, Ariel looked up from her ledgers, smiling. Twice, in the weeks they had shared this palace, Eric had startled her badly, appearing at her side without sound. He made sure, now, that a light scuff of his boot disclosed his presence.

He paused a moment in the doorway, waiting for her nod of invitation before padding across the rich carpet to where she sat and bending lightly to kiss her cheek. He drew up a chair and spun it around, settling across from her with his arms folded on the carved wooden back. His gentle glance took in the dark-paneled walls of the little room she'd made her study, the purple summer twilight in the curtained window, the table heaped with books and scrolls. "Would you like a second lamp in here? If Grimsby finds you reading in the dark, I'll never hear the end of it."

He wore the simple, comfortable clothing she remembered: soft blue pants, a fine white linen shirt. His black hair was shorter than it had been a year ago, when she had had three days to memorize every detail of him. The thick, straight brows were the same, but the blue eyes beneath were shadowed as though from recent illness, or insomnia. His face looked thin.

Still, it was a remarkable improvement. She had been there at the final battle, when Scuttle ripped the spiral shell on its cord from Vanessa's neck. Had seen the spell break when it shattered, Eric's eyes flashing gold even as light and music surrounded her. The prince's face had contorted with pain, one hand flying up to clutch at his head before he dropped, senseless, to the heaving deck. In the days afterward, in the bustle of the palace infirmary, he had lain staring in horror at nothing. Once, he had screamed, until they sedated him. The healers whispered that his mind had gone.

But before the week was out, he recovered himself. She was asleep at his bedside, in the grey hour before dawn, when she felt his hand settle lightly over hers. She opened her eyes to find him watching her, the ghost of a smile on his bloodless lips, his gaze clear. "Ariel," he said, and the beat of her heart turned painful in her chest. "Ariel. You came back." 

Now, glancing at the shadowed corners of the room, she laughed. "Let me guess. Carlotta sent you, and I've missed dinner again. She didn't say to fetch me an extra lamp: she said to make me eat something and go to bed. 'She needs her sleep if she's to look her best tomorrow, the poor dear,' or similar. Whose side are you on?"

White teeth flashed in an answering grin. "My next offer would have been a tray." His face contorted, briefly, in one of the spasms that sometimes flickered across it, then smoothed. 

He hadn't asked to see the books. The military reports, the tax collectors' statements, the castle jailor's terse log—the grim record of the past year was spread before her, and she was bent on deciphering it. She had to know the injuries to put them right. Her chest no longer tightened at the sight of orders signed in Eric's hand.

One day, likely one day soon, he would be ready to face it. But not yet. His strength was returning, but he tired easily, and his mind wandered. Part of each morning was still spent with the healers. 

They had discussed a regent. Mark and Attina, speaking for Glowerhaven and Atlantica, were against it, and Eric's own councilors showed little enthusiasm. No one wanted to set the stage for a power struggle. Besides, Mark had said, the solution was obvious.

Ariel's hand lifted unconsciously to touch the blue-green jewel at her throat. "I surrender. Take me to the kitchens. About tomorrow. Eric—" She couldn't finish it.

He reached one arm across the polished wood of the table, palm up. She grasped his hand in answer, and held it fiercely. "You want to ask if I'm sure, and you can't, because you're imagining the absurdity of the same question put to you." He raised his eyes, which she knew took effort, and let her see the depths of them. "I'm sure. I always have been." 

His grip tightened. For a minute, in silence, they held on.

* * *

"Yes," Eric had said, when it mattered most. " _Yes_." And then, some hours later: "But maybe it could be—maybe not on the barge?"

Their wedding was, of course, on the barge. She was a princess of Atlantica, and this marriage was an affair of state, the symbol of a treaty signed: her people, her _father_ , would be slighted by a ceremony held on land. 

Merfolk were arrayed about them now in the shining water as the officiant began his speech. Her sisters were there, smiling and waving, Attina in the place of honor at their father's side. Set against her upswept brown hair, the five slender points of her coral crown flashed in the morning sun. That much, they had been allowed to change.

Eric was pale, the skin beneath his eyes more bruised-looking than usual, but he stood steadily enough at her side. Every few minutes, his face gave its odd, habitual shudder. 

Last time, it had been Vanessa beside him. Ariel wondered if there was space in this thoughts for anything besides that memory—for the hope that kindled her own heart, the sense of promise, the exultation that the long future was theirs together. Unlikely. He would be relieved, she thought, when this was done.

Later, when the day's music and dancing and feasting was at an end, they were alone at last in the sumptuous bridal cabin. Ariel stripped gratefully to her silk shift, and sat at the vanity to unpin her hair. Eric, watching her, slowly pulled off his boots.

Barefoot, he came to stand behind her. Their eyes met, smiling, in the mirror. Tangling one hand in the luxuriant folds of her hair, he cupped the other about her slender throat, sheltering the sea-colored stone in his palm. "Would you rather—? I mean. The first time."

It was a charm, a gift from her father. Attina wore its mate. Freely, without pain, it allowed the wearer to transform: mermaid to human and back again. It meant acceptance, if not understanding. Ariel had chosen a human life, with Eric—but the ocean was a part of her, and without it she would not be whole. Her children, when they came, would have its like. They would be human _and_ merfolk, belonging equally to land and sea: a new thing in the world.

Would she rather wear her own familiar body when they made love, he meant. _For the first time_. She leaned sweetly into his touch, and held his gaze, unblushing. "For comfort, and ease of instruction? Sometime, yes. But I love this body, and have had several weeks to enjoy it. This is—how I want to be. Let go."

He removed his hands, obedient, and she turned from the mirror to face him. Neatly, he sank to sit cross-legged on the thick rug before her, so that she could look down at him. "Eric. Today was hard. It doesn't have to be tonight."

His eyes were lowered again. A habit of the last year. "I want to. Very much. Only there are some things, I think, you have a right to know—"

She shook her head, and he stilled. "I love you. I don't have a _right_ to you. Not any part of you." A spasm crossed his face, there and gone. "Is there something you'd _like_ me to know?"

He drew a breath, let it out. Another. He looked up. "Not really. Not tonight." Telegraphing the movement, giving her time to draw away, he reached up to cup her cheek. "And you?"

She put her hand over his, and turned her face to press a kiss into his palm. "Let's see. I am well-read, but innocent of experience. You will be my first. I've been looking forward to it." He laughed, and after a moment, so did she. "I'm nervous, a bit—not of you, or of this, but of being on a threshold. I'd feel better if you kissed me."

He obliged, with enthusiasm. In the end, he went to bed in shirt and hose, and after one false start, kept them on. She learned where and how it was possible to touch him. He touched _her_ with reverence, and obvious delight. When he found she had no shyness of her body, he pulled the shift over her head and tossed it to the floor. She raised her arms to help, and felt heat flash through her as he gripped her wrists and bore her back down to the pillows. 

* * *

The sun woke them, streaming into the cabin and pouring light across the coverlet. Ariel was curled against Eric's side, her head on his chest. He drew one hand gently through the extravagance of her hair where it spilled across them both, smoothing it. He pressed a kiss to her ear. "'She has more hair than she needs.' I can't remember the rest. Good morning. Louis will be disappointed if we're not up on deck for breakfast."

Ariel pressed herself tighter against the warmth of him, protesting. "We have two weeks before the Glowerhaven party arrives. I want all my meals in bed till then. Louis will forgive us." They would be back in the palace by afternoon, and he knew as well as she did that tomorrow she would return to poring over reports, hearing petitions, conferencing with advisors. But it was nice to pretend. Agreeably, he held her close. 

"They don't want another month or two to draft the treaty, I suppose? I wouldn't mind. I'm—not sure how I'm going to face Mark, actually." It was said lightly enough, but Ariel heard the catch in his voice. 

"She knows the truth. None of it was your fault." When it was over, Ursula fled in defeat and Eric once more in possession of himself, he had answered the questions put to him with a diffident, desperate civility. It had shocked and angered her to realize that he was not universally believed. It was a mad story, yes, the stuff of myth, and of nightmare. But if humans could accept that mermaids were real, why not a creature like Ursula? 

"She knows I married a tentacled monster who made me a slave to her will." He blew out an amused breath. "The Mark I knew at school would have had something not terribly witty to say about _your average relationship_. But it doesn't—it doesn't change anything. The damage that was done."

"So that's how you know each other. I wondered. It does. It changes everything. It means she has nothing to forgive you for." Ariel slid up his body until she could kiss the corner of his mouth. Relenting, he turned to face her so she could kiss him properly. "Where was this school?"

He let her change the subject as they rose to dress. "Glowerhaven. A fine and venerable institution, for the ruling class to perpetuate itself. Everyone had very good manners." She caught his smile. "Except Lenora, who was a terror. Mark ignored her as tactfully as the rest of us until one day she just waded in and dragged her out of a physical fight by the hair. Put her on the ground and told her to stay there. They would've expelled her, after that, but Mark put a stop to it." 

Ariel tried to picture the faithful and unobtrusive Lennie as a kicking, spitting fury, and failed. "Attina said—there used to be talk. That the two of you would marry." 

Eric laughed. "Not, I imagine, where Markeizha could hear it. A lot of boys fell for the Princess of Glowerhaven, but I was her friend. You can tell your frankly terrifying sister I said so." 

Ariel sat at the vanity to tame her hair. In the mirror, she watched Eric straighten the bed, still smiling to himself as he smoothed the sheets. Absently, from happiness, she began to sing. The pure joy of having her voice restored had not faded. 

Eric stepped abruptly into the small adjoining washroom and closed the door. 

* * *

"So," Eric said, his voice fighting for calm, "obviously that can never happen again." He had fetched her a towel, which Ariel held to her bloodied nose, and now he stood awkwardly beside the bed. It had taken him two tries to light the lamp. His hands were shaking.

She had suspected that he slept poorly. For nearly a week, their nights together passed without incident—but tonight, she had woken to a wretched, strangled sound beside her. Eric's eyes were wide open in the dark, unseeing. He cried out again, and she grasped his arm to wake him. For a moment, he seemed to quiet, and she laid a reassuring palm against his cheek. "Eric. It's all right. A dream. It's just—" At the sound of her voice, he exploded into violence, rearing up to free himself from her hands, striking out wildly. She yelled, more in shock than in pain, and at the sound of her distress he had ripped himself free of the nightmare.

"We can talk about it," she said, somewhat obscurely because of the towel. "Will you come here." He grimaced at her, but climbed back into the bed, leaving plenty of space between them. "I shouldn't have touched you. Next time I'll know." 

He shot her a look, still frowning, then returned his gaze to his hands. They were locked together, the knuckles white. "There can't be a next time. I'm not—this isn't safe. I should sleep alone." 

"So you can have your nightmares in peace? Don't be ridiculous," she said, and he flinched. She gentled her tone. "Of course you can sleep by yourself if you want to. But don't do it to protect me. After everything that's happened, do you think you're the only one with bad dreams? For my part, I'd rather have you here." 

He tried to speak and could not. At last: "I'm sorry." It was barely more than a whisper. "I know she hurt you too. She took your voice—"

"That's the _least_ of what she did to me. She made me think the person I loved—didn't care. Didn't love me. That I'd lost my family's trust for nothing. Worse. She made me think the person I loved—" Was cruel. A tyrant. She couldn't say that. "We were deep under the sea, when she made me human. I still dream of drowning. I dream of calling for you while you walk away from me."

He rubbed a fist over his eyes like a child. "I'll sleep on the floor, then."

"You absolutely will not sleep on the floor. It's the middle of the night: I'm going back to bed, and so are you. Put out the lamp. If you have another nightmare, I'll sit by you and talk to you until you wake."

She could see he was unhappy, but he obeyed. In the dark, under the covers once more, he came no closer. For a while, they lay awake. "Actually," he said. His voice was soft. "Please don't. If that happens again. Please, just—don't say anything."

A thread of cold curled in her belly. "Why not?" Silence. "All right. I won't."

"Because," Eric said. "She had your voice. You sound like her."

Rising the next morning, she nearly tripped over a solid shape in a pile of blankets on the floor beside the bed. A sleepy protest emerged from within, and after a moment, Eric's tousled black head poked out. He blinked at her drowsily, then sighed and pulled the warm quilt back over his head. She nudged a toe into what she thought was his shoulder. "This," he said, muffled but audible, "is a compromise. Kindly forbear to tread on me. For now, this is what I need. Yes?"

She poked him again, for good measure, then relented. "I love you enormously. Far too much to contemplate in a serious way before breakfast. Thank you for telling me. Yes."

* * *

The treaty with Glowerhaven was a fair one, and Ariel was relieved to see the peace formalized. The signing took place on the third day of the delegation's visit, and after that, the strain of hosting their royal guests eased considerably. 

During the tense days of negotiation and exacting court ceremony, Mark was unfamiliar to her. The princess's clothing was exquisite, as always, but disconcertingly austere, with none of the embroidery or rich colors Ariel was used to. The usual ease was bled out of her manner, leaving her reserved and coolly imposing. This, Ariel thought, was the unflappably elegant princess who had strolled into a fistfight and dragged out a vicious, struggling girl. Lennie, normally plain, appeared in gowns of glowing silk, jeweled cuffs and collar at her wrists and throat, her chin-length yellow hair painstakingly curled and pinned with emeralds. She had gone so abruptly white at the initial reception, while Mark and Eric acknowledged one another with stifling courtesy, that Mark, who usually ignored her, put a steadying hand on the back of her neck. 

With the state business complete, a measure of tension relaxed. Mark's big, quick smile returned, along with her customary dress. Lennie, freed of ornamentation, absented herself from the ongoing festivities and recreations and took up residence, as Ariel learned from Grimsby, in the stables, where she charmed the grooms and was permitted to share their work. "Says she finds the animals calming," Grimsby reported. Ariel, to whom Lennie had never said anything at all, shrugged and let it be. If Markeizha was willing to release her odd little shadow, that was her concern.

Attina's arrival in human form was unexpected, but welcome. "Father agreed I should be here," she confided to Ariel, when they found a moment alone, "as his head of foreign relations." Beneath her sister's studied calm, Ariel saw, was the flicker of fierce pride. Impulsively, she threw her arms around the older girl. 

"Thank you," Ariel said. "This is all—we owe you so much. You changed our father's mind; you're changing Atlantica. I'm sorry I—when I needed help, I should have come to you. You're my big sister. I thought no one would understand, and you already knew so much more than I could imagine."

After a startled moment, Attina hugged her back, then held her gently at arm's length. "I'm the one who's sorry. I wanted to know everything about the human world, and once I met Mark, swimming off the edge of her dock alone at night like an idiot because she wanted to feel free—there wasn't room for anything else. I didn't even confide in Alana until we found out you'd gone to the Sea Witch. If I'd been paying attention, I might have realized how unhappy you were."

Ariel wiped at her eyes, and managed a smile. "I'm not unhappy now. Being here, with Eric, being human—I still can't quite believe it."

Attina returned a look of perfect understanding. The curl of her mouth was fond. "I know just what you mean."

When the last banquet was over, the young people did not go to bed. Instead, dismissing their attendants, they lingered over good wine in Ariel's cozy sitting room. Tomorrow, Mark and her courtiers would take ship for Glowerhaven. Attina would go with them. 

It was late. Eric sat in the window embrasure, a glass balanced on his knee, his face turned towards the night. Ariel was curled in an armchair, a light blanket folded over her lap against the evening chill. Mark sat beside Attina on a damasked sofa, with Lennie at her feet, the girl's head resting comfortably against her knee. In companionable silence, they listened to the sigh of waves at the foot of the castle, where the dim sea heaved its bulk onto the sand.

"What are we going to do," Mark said eventually, "if Ursula comes back?"

For a moment, no one replied. Then: "When," Attina said. "When she comes back. The Sea Witch is hungry for power. Before any of us was born, she plotted my father's downfall. We have inherited an implacable enemy." 

"She will find three kingdoms united against her," Ariel said. 

"But how can we guard against her magic?" Mark spread her hands. "She possessed Eric's mind, and controlled him." At her feet, Lennie shifted. "She could do the same to any of us." 

Eric set his empty glass on the sill. His face twisted, and smoothed. "It's not—so simple. She told me. A spell like that needs a crack to force its way in. She had Ariel's voice. When I saw her—" He broke off abruptly, and took a steadying breath. "Just before I saw her, I made a decision. To forget the woman who saved me from the storm, to accept she wasn't real." He did not look at Ariel. "And then there she was, and that voice—I _knew that voice_ —" He turned away a moment, hiding his face, then went on. "She lied. When it amused her. But I think she told the truth about this. I loved Ariel, and the Sea Witch had a part of her essence. I let her in." His shoulders hunched, and he shrugged, ashamed—and ready, Ariel recognized, for them to stop looking at him. "All I mean is. I don't think it would be easy to repeat." 

Silence. "So you remember everything," Mark said. Her voice was cold, her hand a fist in the kneeling girl's hair. 

Slowly, he shook his head. "Not everything. If she gave me an order, I had to obey. I couldn't fight it, but I was still—there. I could still think. But she could also inhabit my mind completely, when she wanted to, and when she did that—there wasn't room for me. When I—when she stopped, when I was aware again, I never knew what she'd done. Sometimes she liked to tell me. Sometimes I never found out." 

"She is cruel," Attina said. "Our father exiled her long ago, but the servants still tell stories of her indulgences, when she lived in the palace. I'm sorry she used you so. Her quarrel was never with you, or your people."

"That made no difference to Glowerhaven," Mark said sharply. 

"No," Ariel said. "Building her strength to move against Atlantica, she brought disaster to two coastal states. And this time, we helped defeat her. Her quarrel may be with all of us, now."

"So we work together," Attina said. "We make our alliances strong. We watch for danger. Even if she can't try the same trick again, she is devious. There will be new plots, perhaps nastier ones. Whatever comes, we do not let her turn us against one another."

* * *

"It's all right," Eric said preemptively, as Ariel closed their bedroom door at last. His face was wrecked with exhaustion and strain. When she reached for him, he stepped back, turning away from her to pace restlessly beside the window. His hands were shaking again, and he shoved them into his pockets to hide the tremor. "I'm all right. Sorry. There's a feeling, sometimes, that—I can't breathe quite as deep as I'd like. It'll pass."

Ariel undressed thoughtfully, watching him, and drew on a light sleeping robe. She considered the bed, then settled herself in a cushioned chair. "We have time, before we face the Sea Witch again. A long time, I think. But she is not taking you back. I will never let that happen."

"I'm not afraid of her." Eric stopped by the window, put his hands on the stone sill and leaned over them, struggling for breath. "Of course I'm afraid of her. I'm so afraid, sometimes, I can't think. But that's not—" After a moment, he pushed away to resume his agitated pacing. "It was hideous, having her in my head. And now she's gone, and I—it's so much effort, all the time. Everything is a choice I don't remember how to make. I'm _tired_." He shook his head, with a laugh that was half a gasp. "I'm tired. That's really all it is. I'll be better in the morning." 

"Why don't you come sit here with me," Ariel said. It was a risk: he was used to orders, and wanted very much to please her. It would be easy to hurt him. He crossed the room to stand before her, and she touched the padded front of the chair between her knees. He hesitated for a long moment, his body radiating nervous tension, his face taut and unhappy. Then he turned his back to her and sat down, quick and graceless, on the floor. He leaned back cautiously against her chair, his head resting on the seat cushion, and attempted audibly to steady his breath.

Ariel slid one hand over his eyes. The other she dragged soothingly through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp, coaxing him to relax. "Right now, there are no choices to make. There is nothing that needs your effort or attention. This castle is asleep, and everyone inside it is safe." That was good, she thought, but not enough. It wasn't everything he needed to hear. "You are exactly where I want you to be. You are letting me do exactly what I want." Gradually, she felt him calm. She left her hands where they were. Minutes passed, and the rasp of his breathing eased. 

"Sometimes," Eric said, and stopped. Ariel waited. "Not at first, but—sometimes, she'd ask me to do something, and she wouldn't make it an order. Nothing important, nothing that would hurt anyone else. There'd be no compulsion, just—knowing what would please her. And after a while I—it was easier to—" He sighed. "It was better when she was happy."

"We're going to fight," Ariel said, reassuringly. "We're going to misunderstand one another. It's part of the business of being married. You will, on occasion, eventually, set down this courtesy you wear like a shield. You will be _not all right_ , and so will I. It'll be messy, and undignified, and perfectly safe." He made a low sound, and she lifted her hand from his eyes. "In here, though—" A wave of dizziness passed over her. Relief, she thought, and fatigue. "Can we move this conversation to bed? Otherwise I'm going to get down there on the floor with you, and then we'll see about _undignified_."

He laughed, hoarse but genuine, and rose to put out the lamps. When they were tucked under the covers, her back to his chest, his nose pressed to her sweet-smelling hair, she finished the thought. "In here, from me, you get whatever you need. If you need to be good, I'll tell you how."

He hummed in thought. "Does it matter why I need it? That I don't know how much is because of her? I can't really say—what I would have been like, what I would have wanted, if—" He didn't need to finish it.

"I don't think so," Ariel said slowly. "It's a waste of pain, I think, asking how things might have been. If I hadn't gone to the Sea Witch for help. If I'd had the sense to realize she would cheat on our bargain. If I hadn't abandoned you." 

"Is that what you think?" Eric's arms tightened reflexively, snuggling her closer. "That's not how I see it. You saved me from the storm. You vanished into the ocean, and took my heart with you, and then you found a way to come _back_ to me. And when you thought I'd forsaken you, and forsaken reason, you fought a war to stop me. When you learned the truth, you fought a war to free me. You saved me _again_." He pressed a sleepy kiss against her hair, and Ariel felt something sharp in her own chest, scarcely acknowledged, begin to ease. "I expect you'll make a habit of it."


End file.
